Love Me Do

Shannon and I have known each other for about 9 1/2 years. We've lived together for about nine of them and have survived working-class poverty, mental illness, physical incapacity and death. We started out with challenges that I'm not sure either of us would have gotten through without the other.

We've worked through them and continue to address them. Money's as tight as ever. But some things never change. Our income hasn't quite kept up with inflation, especially in light of a rising rent market and rapidly inflating gas prices.

Even so, Shannon's been relatively stable the last year or so. When he wasn't, but was laid up in the hospital, we lived and worked through it. I didn't really mind the hospital visits, except for the traffic. And I'm not sure God could have made enough traffic to keep me away.

When your primary goal is getting someone you love better, that goal defines your actions. I've taken care of him before and will again if I need to.

That's not to say that any of it's easy. It's hard as hell to stand by a hospital bed and try to comfort someone who doesn't really know who you are or he is. Someone who goes from thinking you're the enemy to nuzzling his head on your belly for comfort.

He's better now, but I never know when he might snap again.

Beyond that, he doesn't get around very well. We live constantly with his physical limitations. Neuropathy (irreversible nerve damage) isn't fun. It means that he can't feel his hands or feet very well. And most of the time they feel like they're on fire.

Enough to drive someone crazy even if they didn't have a predisposition to go down that road.

Still, he's kind and sweet. He worries about me. He loves me with an intensity that I've only known once before. The other was Rich, and he died June 20, 1995, at the ripe old age of 27.

We had five years together, and I miss him so. That absurd cackling laugh and him calling me Sweet Pea.

So when I think about Shannon and me, all our "challenges" (code for "problems"), I always remember that I've been able to bring him home from the hospital. I didn't bring Rich home.

Things like money don't seem so big in that context.

What's big is making a life together. Making it happen, regardless of illness or other peoples' opinions.

Making it happen right here and right now.

Making it real.